Winters of Sector Four
by Thatoldboy
Summary: Falco Lombardi. Leon Powalski. Both of their pasts have been intertwined for a long time. All stories have beginnings. Theirs is filled with crime and loss. But in the midst of it all, they find something worth fighting for. Later chapters will contain violent scenes and situations.
1. Snow flake

Falco laughed at the fox who was on the ground. The pheasant wasn't alone. Several of his friends and other members of the gang he was in were there too. "You really want to pick a fight with me rich prick? You're just some fucking dumbass from seventh sector." The fox had it coming to him. He was the son of a wealthy business man, or so the rumors go.

There was enough evidence to support the claim. Expensive shoes, nice shirt, good holo-phone, and most of all he had a boastful attitude about himself. Plus he had a mouth; most of the time nothing but bullshit came out of it. Complete ignorant bullshit. That's why he had been knocked on his ass. His mouth let loose something that shouldn't have been said. The bitch paid for it.

Fucking asshole, he shouldn't have said it. "Fuck you Falco!" The fox said.

That's all of the encouragement the bird needed to start beating the kid. His friends pointed and howled with laughter with each hit. He stopped whenever he saw the vulpine beneath him begin to bleed. "Still wanna talk shit?"

Everyone around the fox roared with nonstop giggling as they pranced around the two. From someone elses view it looked primitive, like a dance was taking place. Falco was asserting his dominance over this little bitch. He was proving himself the only way he knew how. The only way he had been taught. Fear.

His father began his teaching whenever he was younger. Falco was three whenever his teacher began beating him for reasons that seemed simply mad. His body was a chalkboard, his father the teacher, the elder Lombardi's fists were the chalk. Except this time there was no eraser to wipe away the chalk. It just simply settled where it was.

If you leave chalk to sit for fourteen years it settles into the chalkboard. You would have to throw out the chalk and the board. For the pheasant neither were thrown away. The teacher was fired instead. His father was found shot four times in the head outside his home. Falco was there to see it all go down as well; and if you would believe it, Falco wept at the sight of it. He wept at the funeral. Even the night before today his best friend walked into his room to find a picture in one hand and the pheasant's tear stricken face resting in the other.

Years had prepared Falco for this. This mindless madness. Bitch shouldn't have said what he did. He waited for a response to be made, he waited ever so patiently. Even with the ramble from his friends calling for blood, he waited.

In a sudden burst of pent up energy his response was made, and the response was strong enough to knock Falco off of his feet. With a scream of rage and rebellion the fox sent one very well formed fist under the pheasants beak, and upon initial contact sent the bird sprawling backwards. The crowd of boys stopped there chanting and looked in awestruck surprise. A rich prick from sector seven had struck out against a Street Rat from the dumpster. The punch itself held appearance of disciplined technique.

"Still want to talk shit Lombardi?"

Falco stood and looked at the fox, his towering presence seemed to have diminished. His friends began to snort with laughter. Falco himself couldn't hold back his giggling. Everyone around the two roared with a triumphant wave of laughter. The pheasant held onto his stomach and laughed. The fox looked around in confusion, his thoughts rolled over in his head over what was happening.

"Fuckin' A kid, that's what we've been looking for."

The vulpine looked at the pheasant in confusion even then. "So...what? Was this a test or something?"

"Hell yeah it was; all that talk and no bite? We didn't believe it. You're ok on my watch...er...what's your name?"

The vulpine wiped away the blood that trickled out of his nose and replaced his confusion with a maddening smile. It was all a test? For what, to see if he was different. His father had taught him how to fight, he could've taken Falco and some of his friends. Well maybe not Falco, he was one of a kind.

"Fox McCloud."

Leon felt tired. He had gained that right. His arms felt like lead had replaced his muscles. His legs burned with exhaustion. The breath that came from his mouth came in ragged and labored patterns. Blood trickled down his forehead from a cut where a lucky kick had hit its mark. The chameleon's knuckles dripped with the red fluid. Adrenaline still pumped furiously throughout his brain, veins, and muscles. Everything hurt.

Leon's chest, back, arms, legs, head, even his crotch had the feeling of pain. His clothes had been torn from the abuse it had been put through. Obviously the designer who had come up with the clothes hadn't designed it for fighting. His stance was slumped, but still held the look of awareness. Even with the pain and exhaustion flowing throughout Leon's body he still held himself up. This wasn't his time to die; that came later.

He took a moment to study his surroundings. Remember everything. Take notes. The group of kids that had surrounded him, before he blacked out, had long since vacated the area. He could see where the grass had been weighed down from the two that had to be dragged away. That was after Leon had knocked them both on their asses within the first four seconds of the fight.

It had been seven to one. Three of them were injured bad. Two of those had been knocked unconscious and probably were suffering from major concussions. The third one had had his kneecap stomped in at an awkward angle. Probably wouldn't walk right again. The other four had taken the chameleon down by surrounding him and laying waste to his body. He made a note mentally.

He had been to this park before. It was with his mother. Back before she had abandoned him. Leon thought it was funny that this had now been a battleground; one that he'd lost. The chameleon wandered what his foster parents would say this time whenever he came home, or would they be too stoned to care? Would his foster father raise a hand at him again?

The chameleon would allow him if he did. He would allow the man to push him against the wall and let himself be put in harms way. This was Leon's way of being left alone for the night. After his foster father felt better about himself the man would go get high. It was almost like clock work for Leon. The only thing that differed was how the older man hit him.

His walk home was long, painful, and lonely, but for some odd reason Leon took the time to think about the beautiful things he was passing. His neighbor's garden which was located on the sixth floor of his apartment building. His jacket barely kept the winter cold at bay. Him being cold blooded didn't help either. It made him wonder how humans felt. They had hair. Some of them more than others, but none of it was fur. They were almost as bare as Leon.

Then again, Leon's ancestors had time to fully adapt and evolve to survive the enviroment. Humans still had to get used to the cold. Summer for lylatians here on Corneria was like autumn for humans. Winter however for cold bloods and humans alike were brutal to endure. Pain was beautiful to the chameleon. His body acknowledged that with the limp in his step and the arm wrapped around his chest.

Beautiful...

His apartment was located inside of sector four, on 10th street. Not a very pretty place to look at, but it had its moments. Today wasn't going to be one of those days that held special moments...at least not to Leon's knowledge.

The chameleon smiled at the sight of the flowers. Something to brighten up the rest of his day, no matter what happened. A sign that reminded him there was still some good inside his life. Often times he wished he had a flower of his own. He didn't know how to take care of it, but he'd figure it out along the way. Leon just needed something to help get him through his everyday existence. Something to motivate him to keep fighting.

He got home and avoided his foster parents entirely. That was the easy part seeing as to how they were stoned beyond their normal levels. This gave Leon the chance to release his stress. He grabbed a wet rag, hand soap, a cotton swab, and a bandaid before heading into the bathroom to clean his head wound. It didn't take long, but the chameleon knew his forehead was going to sting for awhile. He stepped into his room and opened his bedroom window to get the smell of narcotics out of his refuge. After changing out of his clothes and into something more comfortable he grabbed his boxing tape, a luxury he stole from the neighbor above him. Grabbed some cloth for extra protection. He walked back out into the hallway and headed towards his spot. His personal war room.

He'd found this place by accident. It was an old janitor closet that had been converted into a workout room. It didn't have any weights in it other than the ones Leon brought with him. If he wasn't praying for a better life then he was working out his muscles with rigorous exercises. Today he was going to pray. Maybe exercise too if he was feeling like it.

He wrapped the cloth around his knuckles and made sure they were tightened. He then took the boxing tape and wrapped it around his wrists first before moving up his hands and ending it with his knuckles. Just enough protection to keep from breaking his knuckles, but not enough to where he couldn't feel the shock of impact course through his fists. The wall that once held various cleaning tools had been redecorated with a black outline of a man. Blood stains were spread variously around the chest and head of the outline.

Time for prayer. Each punch or palm strike that connected with concrete was a cry for help. Every elbow that made its mark was a sign of gratitude for what he had. Any kicks that happened to smash into the wall was taken as a sign of pity for the ones that needed it. That night was filled with plenty of punches, elbow strikes, and at least three kicks.

More blood had been left on the wall. Another wound had to be patched up. With another round of exhaustion setting in he lumbered back to his room. As Leon opened the door he was greeted with the sight of his foster father, a tall and skinny looking feline with a shaggy mane, already reaching for the teen. "It's bedtime kid, why are you still out of bed?" He didn't put up a fight. Not even whenever he was slammed through his bedroom door.

Leon held himself up on his hands and knees. He wasn't going to allow himself to be beaten again today. The moment he finally decided to be defiant...it backfired. The window was still open. Dammit, The window had still been open. The feline realized this too late whenever he shoved the chameleon again.

Leon saw for the first time his foster father show some compassion and fear for himself. The feline's expression showed it all. Horror, sympathy, sorrow, and panic. Shear bloody panic. Leon went wide eyed whenever he realized why his foster father showed concern for his adopted son over something that seemed to normal. the chameleon was only able to get one word out before plummeting out the window.

"Wait!"

The teen fell two stories before landing on the fire escape below. His left arm and shoulder was shot with pain. He cried out in agony. His left rib cage didn't feel any better either. Leon tried to roll over on his right side to sooth some of the pain. He only added on to it as he rolled down the steps. Leon reached the second floor before he stopped rolling. He groaned in pain. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to stand.

The teen only managed to tumble forward over the railing. His body made contact with the dumpster lid below. Luckily the dumpster was full and provided some, if any, comfortable landing. Barely keeping conscious he slid off it and fell hard onto the asphalt. Snow began to fall. The first flake that touched Leon landed on his nose. He didn't notice.

Falco walked Fox to the transit over on 9th street. The little bitch had been promoted to the Sector Seventh fucker, a name that the vulpine seemed ok with for the time being. "You think the other guys will take to me?"

"My boys will take to you if your continue to prove yourself Foxy. Who knows, you fight better than you talk I'm sure you'll have some people looking up to you." Falco said as he pulled his jacket closer to himself. Winter was coming, that much was for sure.

"Shit, my dad's gonna kill me when he sees the mess you put me through." Fox said as he made sure his nose was no longer bleeding.

"Shouldn't have talked shit about me buddy. Shows you why you shouldn't fuck with a Lombardi, you'll get knocked on your ass."

The vulpine couldn't help but chuckle at this. "You always cuss this much?"

"Only with friends McCloud, only with friends."

They said there goodbyes an went there separate ways. Fox to the transit back in Seventh Sector and Falco to Hope street. He thought it was fucking funny that the slums tried their hardest to boost morale. Hope Street, Inspiration drive, Knowledge street, Lovely Avenue. Not shitting you, Lovely Avenue. What fucking pansy named these streets? It always brought a laugh to the pheasant whenever he thought about it. Lovely Avenue was full of abandoned buildings, drug dealers, and it also held the highest murder rate in all of Sector Four.

Tenth street brought Falco to a halt. Snow had begun to fall whenever he crossed into the alley. He saw the body lying motionlessly on the ground. He didn't waste anytime moving closer to it. Might be some loot on this mother fucker. Falco stopped whenever he got closer to the body. It moved. "You still alive?"

No response. "You know cold bloods don't last long out here in the snow." Falco took the time to look around. There weren't any weapons lying around. He noticed the dumpster beside the body had had its lid crushed. The pheasant looked up and saw what had happened. "Mother fucker, how are you still alive?"

Falco looked back at the body again and saw blood seeping from an open wound from his back. Must've been from the landing. He looked around for someone. A human was unlocking his door across the street. "HEY!"

Michael Anderson was just like any other person who lived in the Cornerian human colony. He had a stable job as a bartender. Had his bills paid on time. Lived in the house he'd lived in for the past twelve years. He even had a mental routine for each day. Michael was pretty well organized.

People would often talk about him whenever they thought he wasn't listening. "There goes lonely Michael." One might say. "I don't think I've even heard him speak before." another would say. All of this was true. Michael rarely spoke to anyone and when he did you'd have to ask him to say it twice because he spoke so quietly. Michael was lonely too, he had been ever since his parents passed away four years ago.

The only people you'd ever catch him speak to regularly was either the guys who came in every Friday to watch their favorite team get demolished by another team, or his rat friend Kyle Chevblowski. Kyle seemed to get the human to open up more than anyone else had. It was a strange sight to watch the two talk. Usually Lylatians wouldn't so much as look at a human if they could help it; but Kyle being raised beside the walled colony on Corneria learned that humans weren't all that bad.

Hell he even grow up with Michael for almost thirteen years now. The two were practically family as far as anyone was concerned. The rat was even offered a job by Michael to help him run the bar, but was quickly turned down based on the local knowledge about the bar. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that Michael didn't own the Old Boy bar. Guess that's why sometimes you'd see a tall guy dressed in a black sports coat with too much cologne on walk into the bar to collect some money that would be stored there.

The Old Boy was a drop bar controlled by the mob from Zoness, one of the many bars used for money trafficking, drug trafficking, and illegal betting. Michael didn't have a problem with the fact "his" bar was being used for someone else's business. His thoughts were everybody has to work and if that includes doing unsavory things to get to the top, so be it. Social Darwinism at it's finest. Michael's only problem was if product was being sold inside the bar. He told that to one of the big bosses who operated in the area. The boss simply nodded and told the human as long as he kept the product safe while it was in his care then no deals would be done in or around his bar.

To this day nothing other than alcohol and food was sold inside the bar. People wouldn't talk about the Old Boy's dark side. They did so not out of fear, but of for the sake of the bar's homey enviroment. To lots of people the Old Boy had become a second home. It was one of the only places were you could walk in and not have to worry about who worshiped which god or if one guy liked another guy. You could simply walk in and be yourself.

The bar of course had its regulars as well as its newcomers. People from around the neighborhood loved the place as if the bar was a family member. Michael never forgot anyone's name as long as he saw the person's face. People appreciated that from him.

Friday was like any other night during the week. The regulars sitting at their tables with their boilermakers and shots of tequila, Kyle sitting on his usual stool at the bar chatting it up with the human, and the old man who played cards all by himself in the corner booth. Michael stood with his blue flannel shirt open to reveal his grey t-shirt. His brown hair, finger combed to the right side. And his green eyes fixated on the holovision set that was showing the weather.

Kyle set his hands on the bar and yawned before scratching the black fur underneath his chin. "Another cold one about to hit." the rat said as he studied the forecast. Michael nodded and sighed. "Seems all we get nowadays is snow and wind, eh Mikey?"

"Seems that way. Fichina's got it worse though." Michael said he turned to look over at his friend.

"True, true. Ya'think we might get snowed in? I'm sure you'll have no problem with the ice Mikey, but if you need an extra hand to help shovel, call me up." Kyle received a mumble and a head nod. He checked his wristwatch and yawned again. "You close here in about five minutes right?" Another nod and mumble. "What's that?"

"I said here in about two minutes actually." Michael said as he reached for the light switch underneath the counter.

"You say that every time I ask, but still the light remains on for the next two fucking hours every so often. And don't say it's you cleaning because I've helped you before and I even half-assed my part most of that time. It took you, what, like twenty minutes to clean up the place." Kyle sat up and let a smile spread across his lips. "I want to meet him Mikey."

Michael shook his head and frowned. "Don't know what you're talking about Kyle."

"Ah come on Mikey, throw me a bone here, give me a hint. His he hot? His he suave or something like that?"

"Still don't know what you're talking about man." Michael said as he flicked off the light switch which turned off the OPEN sign. People began to mosey out through the front door with waves towards the two friends. The old man placed his stack of cards in a handmade pouch, grabbed his strange looking top hat, and nodded towards the bartender before he left. Michael waved back; one familiar stranger to another.

Kyle waited a bit before standing up as well. "Is he at least your type Mikey?"

"How do you know that the person's not a she?"

The rat throw on his coat and shrugged. "Do you know any girls who's a six four avian and dressed like a guy."

"My lesbian neighbor dresses like a guy. What's her name?" Michael said as he began wiping off the counter top.

"Angie? She isn't six four or an avian. Sure she has that avian girlfriend and step-daughter from Macbeth, but hell she's not fucking tall."

The human took Kyle's empty shot glass and put it in the sink underneath the counter to wash later. "I still don't know where you get these ideas from."

"Asshole."

Michael mumbled something before pointing a thumb towards the door. "What was that Mikey?"

"You cruising for a piece of ass?" Kyle laughed and they said their goodbyes. Kyle walked outside and adjusted his coat collar as he began walking home. Michael grabbed a clean glass and placed it on a cup mat on the counter. He'd wait to hear the familiar knock on his front door. He'd have another person to talk to for the next two hours.

The holovision quit the weather report and changed to the evening news. Michael checked the time and waited. Half-passed twelve. It was just like him to wait and scope out the area before entering the Old Boy. Michael wondered why he even let the guy drink in here after the bar closed.

One in the morning. Still nothing. Give him ten more minutes. Ten minutes pass...still nothing.

Fuck, he's not coming tonight.

Once again the lonely bartender gave the place a deep clean. Michael left the bar a little after one in the morning. His bar being located so close to the main gate gave him the advantage of not having to drive his truck a ways just to get to walk. He could walk and feel good knowing that he still had the same tank of gas since Thanksgiving.

The white and gray furred guard, a pit bull named Rocco, dressed in a white uniform gave the human a nod as he walked by. The colony had been established a good fifty some years ago. It extended throughout half of sector four, or as the local population nicknamed it, the dumpster. Sector four was without a doubt the slums of Corneria. The government had the idea to keep the trash from spilling out by placing a thirty foot containment wall all around the neighborhood.

Everyone inside sector four was part of that neighborhood. Everybody, humans and Lylatians, either knew each other or had heard about one another from someone else. Michael usually took 11th street to the pizza joint just behind his apartment. The reasoning behind this was because of the trash that crowded the sidewalks on 10th.

People always seemed to be in debt inside sector four. Paying to much for shit they didn't need, piling up their bills to the point of overflow; and just whenever you'd think it would all spill out, they throw on a living room set that's worth more than their house. Then you'd see them inside the Old Boy with a mug in their hands and their eyes staring off into space, the thoughts of their debt hanging on their minds constantly. On 10th street you'd see trash barrels or sometimes dumpsters filled to the brim with things no one wanted anymore. Sadly most things could be fixed with just a dab of glue or a piece of tape. Strangely enough though people bought more things instead of taking the time to repair what they already had; hence the debt.

Michael arrived at the pizza joint named Chicago Classics and walked through the alley next to it. His usual way. The building he lived in had been bought off from an old wolf some twenty-odd years back. It wasn't huge and luxurious, and the only way to get to the bathroom was to cross through the kitchen. Single story building with enough room to allow one person to live in. That was before the government thought it would be ok to build on top of it with new apartments. All you had to do is get on the fire escape designed entrance.

It had begun to snow whenever he reached the front door. Michael reached into his pocket and fished out his keys to his apartment. He was about to insert the key into the lock whenever he heard the shout. It came from a younger mans' voice. "HEY!" The human turned to a sight he wasn't ready for that night. A blue feathered pheasant in a pair of black skinny jeans, red hoodie, and red bandana tied around his left arm had a half naked green chameleon in his arms. The chameleon was unconscious. His left arm looked roughed up, hell his whole body was covered in fresh bruises. His forehead had a recently scabbed cut, one that would soon scar over if not treated, and his back was bleeding from a cut.

"HELP ME OUT HERE." The pheasant said as he reached the confused bartender. Reacting to the sight he hurriedly unlocked the door and opened it.

"Bring him inside and lay him in the guest bed."

The pheasant hurried inside as the human walked in behind him. Michael closed the door and locked it. "Which room?" The bird asked.

"Head down the hall, second door on the left." Michael moved towards the bathroom for his first aid kit. The pheasant did as told and carried the chameleon into the hall. "Fuck, I hope he's ok."

They got the bleeding to stop shortly. His left arm had been dislocated at the shoulder. It took both of them to pop it back into place. The two did their best to put it into a homemade sling. "Stay here and watch him, I'm going to make phone call." Michael said as he ran back into the kitchen.

Falco simply sat there staring at the chameleon beside him. He got fucked up pretty bad.

Leon stirred slightly. Pain shot through his body again. His ribs ached and his left arm felt ristricted. The chameleon barely opened his eyes before he groaned from the intense light. He felt movement beside him. He made out blue eyes staring back at his. "You brought me here?"

"Yeah I got you here all right. What the hell happened?"

Leon didn't respond. He wasn't able to. Too much had happened too fast. He fell back asleep with Falco Lombardi watching over him. A smile spread across his face for some reason.


	2. SS number

The room smelled of anesthetics, rubbing alcohol, and the stale smell of people. If Leon were to guess where he was the first place would be a hospital. He was right whenever his other senses began to work as well. He heard the electric beat from a heart monitor. He could feel all of the little tabs that had been placed on him. His arm had its own beat as well were a pick line had been entered into where his elbow bent at. The chameleon opened one eye and was instantly hit with a pang of pain inside of his head. He shut his eye quickly and groaned. _Take it slow. Check your surroundings and take notes of everything._

His eyelids lifted slowly as he began to look around the room. White walls with shelves and medical posters surrounded him with a single door that had been left opened. _Where am I? What happened?_ He his eyes scanned the room again and found to his surprise two people sitting near his bed. They were asleep and leaning against each other. _Study them. Find out what you can._ A human male, brown hair and short brown beard. Blue flannel shirt with grey t-shirt, blue jeans, brown hiking boots. A brown jacket had been draped over the arm of his chair as well. He looked vaguely familiar. Leon would get to that later, the other person began to stir.

Blue feathered pheasant. Black jeans, red hoodie, red bandana, and black shoes. If Leon remembered correctly he had blue eyes. "You brought me here?" Memories of the chameleon's recent events began to swarm into his mind. "Yeah I got you here alright. What the Hell happened to you?"

The fall. His window had been open whenever he was shoved. Leon felt panic begin to rise up through his body. _Keep calm, check yourself. What's the damage?_

Leon shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through his left shoulder and rib cage. "Fuck." The rest of his body felt sore from something else. The park, he remembered the park. _Why had I fought?_ They'd followed him there, they wanted to know about the scar on his back. They'd seen it in the locker that day and felt they needed to check if Leon was a tough guy. _Had anything been proven?_

The pheasant opened his eyes and met Leon's stare. "You're awake early." Falco said as he begin to stretch. Leon continued staring at the avian with a questionable look as he was met with a yawn. "Glad to see that you still have your shits in check. You've been through hell."

"Don't for get the trip from said hell." Leon said while studying the avian. He received a chuckle and another smile. "What the fuck happened to you last night? I found you out in the middle of an alley bleeding to death in the snow."

Leon reminded himself of his landing on the second floor fire escape balacony. "It's a rather difficult story to explain in words alone."

The avian let his eyes wander the chameleon's body. "Your body tells a story itself buddy. You've cracked three of your left ribs and dislocated your shoulder which Michael and I popped back into place. Plus you've got a new scar forming on your back. Shit you look like someone's beaten you with a hammer. Fuckin' bruises all over your body."

Leon's eyes sank slightly. "Well isn't that what every man wants to hear?" It was going to be awhile before he was able to operate properly. All of it because he left his fucking window open. There was no use in blaming his foster father for what had happened. Leon left his fucking window open, a small error that almost cost him his life.

Falco noticed the chameleon's expression change. _Fuck, smooth Falco. Smooth as fucking wood._ "I'm just giving it to you straight...er...what's your name?"

The chameleon looked back at the avian and narrowed his eyes. "My name isn't important..." Leon stopped and remembered his situation. "is what I'd say if I were leaving, but clearly I'm in no shape to leave."

Falco snorted in annoyance. "So...you going to give me a name to work with? I could just ca' ya that kid who fell out a fucking window, but that'd take too long. Bitch works too."

Leon felt like slamming this guys head into a wall. _The nerve he has._ "Oh aren't you just a ray of fucking sunshine, call me Leon."

 _Leon huh? Sounds familiar._ The avian smiled out of the corner of his beak. "Now was that so hard? I wasn't askin' you for your SS number or who your first pet was." Falco felt his stomach growl slightly and shifted in his seat to stand, but he stopped and looked at Leon's body again. "What happened?" He asked again.

"Shit happened. That's all I'll say at the moment." Leon said as he watched Falco more closely.

"Fair enough. Name's Falco, and the hummie's name is Michael."

"Good to know." Leon said as the avian stood up. Leon felt like he may have been too rude with Falco.

"You're not very talkative I take it. I'll keep things short then, I'm heading to the cafeteria to get breakfast. You want anything?" Falco asked as he stretched for a second time. Leon couldn't help but look down at Falco's exposed abdomen as he stretched. Blue feathers did little to hide a scar that ran across the pheasant's stomach. The chameleon felt something get caught in his throat at the sight of the pink exposed flesh. His eyes retracted back to the avian's blue eyes as he thought it over.

"Something edible that doesn't taste like shit." Falco smiled as he let his arms fall back down to his sides and his shoulders slump comfortably. "So I guess a Poptart won't do it for ya. I'll find something good."

Leon let out a chuckle, but quickly let it turn into a groan. "Don't move Leon, you'll need your strength to eat, cause I sure ain't feeding ya." Falco said with a smile. Leon returned the friendly smile and closed his eyes.

"Not that I would allow it to begin with Falco."

Leon listened to Falco chuckle before leaving, his footsteps echoing from the sound of his shoes. He waited a bit. No ones was coming into the room hopefully. His eyes shifted back open as he knew what was coming next. Despite a part of him telling him to lie still, he knew he had to see the damage first hand. _See what works. Know what you can use._ Leon took a deep breath in and felt a sharp spike of pain in his ribs. _Lean to the right more. Put little pressure on those bones._

The chameleon began to sit up, pain struck through his body like lightning. He grit his teeth together before taking in a huge breath of air that only fed unto the pain as his lungs nudged his ribs. If karma was real then this was it, and it hurt like a bitch. Things needed accessing and Leon needed to know where he was.

Falco found his way to the cafeteria and bought both himself and Leon a biscuit with a side of gravy. Carrying the trays of food back to the room the pheasant's mind began to wander. _What happened to Leon last night? What's up with the bruises over his torso? Why are his knuckles scarred?_ The pheasant contemplated that these things were linked somehow, and for some odd reason Falco felt that he should find out why. _His eyes...there was something in his eyes...something...familiar._

Michael awoke to the sound of the Chameleon's cry of pain, and as the human's eyes shot open his hand went down to his right pocket instinctively. He left it home in last night's rush to get the reptile to the hospital. The sight he was greeted to was a bruised chameleon struggling to hold himself up at the end of his bed. Without hesitating the bartender went to the reptile's side to help him. "FUCK!"

The human realized that he had grabbed the shoulder that had been dislocated and with a gasp he let go and watched as the chameleon stumbled away from him. "Fuck, Michael other arm please." he said through labored breaths.

"Why are you standing in the first place kid?" Michael asked as he grabbed unto the younger man.

Leon felt like puking because of the intensity of the pain. Black dots began to invade his vision as he tried stand. His body ached and pleaded for him to sit down, but he wouldn't allow it. Push past the pain. Find the information you need. "Where am I? Were you the one who brought me here? Where's Falco?"

"Slow down buddy, one question at a time. You're in the hospital on the east end of Sector Four. Yes, Falco and I brought you here in my truck. And I don't know where Falco is. Hey! Slow the hell down kid." Leon began pushing the man off of him.

"Let go of me dammit. It fucking hurts!" Michael let go of the chameleon and watched as he slumped towards the wall. "I just...need to catch my bearings and check the damage." He said as he stood himself up with a pained expression.

"I-i'm...sorry." Michael didn't know what else to say as he looked down. He'd just tried to help the boy, but instead he'd hurt him. The chameleon saw the human's expression and body language change into one that resembled sadness; like a kid that had accidentally broken something.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm just in a lot of pain right now and I'm still a bit out of it." Leon said as he held an arm around his chest. Pain came with every breath and the bruises ached with each of the reptile's heart beat. You'd think that the nurses that treated him would've given him some sort of pain killer. But they didn't due to the small quantity they had left. "My name's Leon. I know you're Michael and the avian with you is Falco. He went off to get me and him breakfast."

"Leon...you're that kid who lives across the street with the foster parents right?" Michael asked. Leon looked at the human.

"You're that bartender who owns the Oldboy." Michael nodded and smiled.

"Uh, yeah. I guess we're not strangers after all."

"Guess not." Everyone knew every one in the dumpster.

Falco walked in and gave Leon his breakfast. Michael walked out of the room for a second to hunt down a nurse. "So, I was thinkin' Leon, with you being hurt an'all that you probably won't be going to school for awhile. You want me to get you're stuff for you?" Falco asked in between bites. Leon sat back into his chair and looked at the avian. He grabbed the napkin from his tray and wiped his mouth as he chuckled. "What?"

"It's just, you and me just met officially today. Why would you want to help me?" Falco cocked an eyebrow up a bit and returned to his food.

"Forget I said anything then." He said with his mouth full.

"Falco. I'd be thankful if you did. It's just I've got no idea what I'm going to do next. I'm not sure if I'm heading back to my foster parents or-"

"They were aressted." Falco said as he dipped his biscuit in gravy. Leon blinked absently and cocked his head. "Last night. The police had your blood analyzed to find out who you were. They didn't fucking give us your name, but they said that they knew where your foster parents were. So apparently they drive up to the place and whenever they knock on your apartment door your step-dad, or whatever you want to call him, opens the door and begs to be arrested. Says he did it, whatever he did to you. Says he didn't know if you were dead or not." Falco looked over at Leon. "Said he was fuckin' sorry." He plucked the biscuit into his mouth as he looked out the door.

Leon felt sick. His foster father said he was sorry. _He said he was fucking sorry. He didn't even check if I was alive. WHAT THE FUCK?_ None of that made sense to Leon. "You're staying with Michael I guess. That's why he left. Told me last night he was going to take care of you to the police. They agreed and left you in his custody."

Leon left a little after mid-morning with Michael and Falco. One of the nurses gave the chameleon a fresh new pair of clothes and shoes. The truck ride home was quite at first. Falco in the back seat, Leon in the front passenger, and Michael driving. Falco was the one to break the silence. "I live over on 11th street. You can just stop at your place and I could walk home."

"You sure? I could just drop you off at your place, it is cold and snowing and..." Michael stopped for a second. "It's snowing. Shit, do you think you could stay with Leon for the night until I get home? I still have work at the bar and I haven't even started shoveling the sidewalk."

"Sure I don't mind." Leon said as he looked back at Falco for an answer.

"I'm not sure."

"I'll pay you. It's not that I don't trust Leon, I just need someone to help him around." Michael said as he pulled unto 10th street. Falco thought about for a bit and shrugged.

"Why the hell not? I'll stick around for awhile."

After Michael gave Falco the house key he drove his truck to work. It felt odd for some reason to be driving to work. He'd never been late before to his job, but considering the circumstances he felt like he needed to hurry. Funny. This was the first time he'd had to use his truck in a month. The bartender looked up to the sky and thought about the last twelve hours. _Was this part of your plan?_

There was no answer as Michael pulled up to the bar. He parked around back and grabbed his shovel and bag of ice salt that he'd stored by the back door. _This is going take a bit of time._ He thought to himself. He walked back around the front to start shoveling the snow that had fallen in front of the entrance and on the sidewalk.

Michael began to wonder what had happened to Leon in the first place. How old was the kid? He'd forgotten to ask him. _Shit, I haven't even asked him anything. Hey._ Michael realized he'd been day dreaming and placed the shovel into the snow. "Hey."

The human turned to where the deep voice emitted from and jumped slightly. There had been someone standing to his right for what seemed like awhile. An avian with grey feathers towered over the human. He was dressed in heavy pants, a grey sweater, and a black sports coat with a scarf. "You the bartender here?"

"Uh...yeah. How can I um...help you?" Michael studied the man closely. He held a long scar down the bottom of his left jaw which traveled to the back of his neck. Green eyes met the human's brown.

"I'm here to buy some Zoness Zuma." the man said as he hugged his arms around himself to keep out the cold. It was a code, and with every code there was an answer.

"I'm not selling that right now." This answer was followed by a question.

"When's your next shipment?" The man shook somewhat somewhat, his jacket only doing so much to keep out the cold.

"Later tonight." Michael's gaze met the other mans eyes. The avian nodded, smiled, then draped the scarf over his mouth.

"I'll stop by then to get some." He winked before he turned on his heel to walk away. The bartender cursed under his breath before plunging the shovel into the snow. As he pushed the white powder into the street he spread salt over the trail. _Tonight of all nights? You sure do have a sense of humor for the wicked, God._ Michael sighed before pushing another pile of snow into the street. Guess that guy would finally come by after all. His bar would be used to make the drop.

Falco would have to stay a bit later than what he'd thought.


	3. Itch

How the fuck had I ended up like this? Blood staines my clothes as I sit in a pool of it. Tears streamed down my face and I felt sick and disgusted. My hands shook from the adrenaline that was left over in my body. I didn't know how to react to what I'd just done. Every muscle in my body begged me to release the pent up rage that flowed through my body. Everything felt light weight and for a second I felt what some people would call nirvana. It was something that couldn't be explained in words. It was like an itch you just couldn't scratch before, but somehow found a way. In an instant I snap and unleash an inner rage that everybody has and charge shoulder first straight into the man who has the gun pointed at me. It goes off and the bullet collides with the cabinet beside the fridge, I then begin my ascension into another person entirely as my thumbs dive deep into the man's eye sockets. I feel the inside of the man's skull and I realize that I no longer was a kid anymore. I am a cold blooded killer named Hate. My goal is to kill everyone of the men who reside in this house. I kill the second man as I slam his head into the ground for the fourth time and hear a satisfying crunch of skull followed by the sickening squish of brain being forced out the small crack. The tears were gone and the adrenaline returned tenfold. Two down, twelve to go.

Kyle took his usual seat at the bar and smiled as he was the only patron in the bar other then the bartender himself. "So I saw our friend we was speaking of last night Mikey."

Michael looked up from the glass he'd been cleaning and sighed. He knew what was going to come from this. "In fact I saw said person talking to, if you'd believe it people, my friend Michael Anderson." Kyle finished sarcastically.

A large grin spread across his muzzle as the bartender did his best to ignore him. "Who is this man that Michael is embarrassed to talk about?" Still the silent treatment was in play.

Kyle thought for a second. He needed a way to embarrass the bartender to get him to talk. His grin somehow got bigger as he chuckled to himself. "Is it possible that this man has found a way down the bartender's pants?"

Michael set down the cup he'd been cleaning and glared at the rat sitting in front of him. "That's against my religion pal."

"What the fuck kinda religion doesn't let one man lover another?"

Michael seemed taken aback. He realized that his Catholic religion wasn't ever a discussion he'd had with anyone before. The human became quiet again and lost himself to his own thoughts. Kyle felt that it was a touchy topic and decided to move on. "Michael, you know all I want from you is for you to be happy. If it means trying to set you up with a date then I'm going to do it."

The human rested on his arms and stared at the rat with his green eyes meeting Kyle's blue. Michael had tried an online dating service once before. It ended up rather badly for the human seeing as the girl he'd been paired with showed up on the first date in an attempt to bring the bartender home in hopes of a three way with her boyfriend.

Michael even broke down in confession one service. The reverend asked why he had been crying as he comforted the young man. Michael felt alone. His parents death had left him without any real kind of family. It left him without anyway to cope with the stress his job offered.

"I'll find someone Kyle. I...just need sometime to get some other things sorted out back at home." Michael said as his eyes darted towards the front door. The first bag man had arrived with an envelope in his hand. Michael and Kyle both knew that money was inside. Kyle sighed and allowed Michael to do his job. The envelope was set on the bar before the man walked out. The bartender took the envelope and slid it into a slit underneath a mat he kept underneath the bar. From there he turns a small crank and it is distributed into a small safe.

Michael looked back at Kyle and let out half a smile. "You think someone would want to date me?"

Kyle himself smiled. "I would if you were my type, but that's only because I know you. All you have to do is let someone in."

Michael crossed his arms and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I have."

* * *

"Falco, you think you could...um..." Leon began. Falco looked over from the chair he'd sat in. Behind him was a desk with an abundance of computer appliances. The walls around the living room had a wooden face and bore several pictures of Michael and his family. He had a very similar look to his father, but he had his mother's eyes.

Leon looked away and his scales turned a shade darker. "I um...I need..."

Falco shifted in his chair. "I'm sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of how nervous you are."

Leon looked up at the pheasant shyly. "I um...I have an itch...that I can't scratch." This was beginning to turn awkward for the chameleon. Why he brought up the subject with a some what familiar stranger was beyond him.

"An itch huh? I guess I could lend a wing." Falco said as he stood from he'd been sitting. Leon seemed more nervous now. "It's on my back...but...because of the bandages and sling you'll have to...either reach under my shirt...or...take it off..." He stated as he looked away.

Falco sighed before sitting beside the chameleon. "Take you shirt off and set it beside you."

Leon did as told and didn't move afterwards. Falco allowed his hands to glide over the younger teens back before beginning to scratch at the top of his back just below the bandages. Leon seemed timid at the pheasant's touch. "Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you." Falco said nonchalantly.

"I'm not used to people doing this for me. It's not happened since I was little." Leon said as he kept his gaze elsewhere.

"Better get used to it, because I won't be the only one who does this. Besides you're the one who asked for it, so don't feel so fucking nervous about it."

Leon let his breathing become more shallow and his muscles locked in place. "It's um...lower down my back...the itch."

Without a word Falco scratched lower, but took into account the shortness of breath. It bothered him slightly.

"You seem quite comfortable scratching a strangers back." Leon said as he tried desperately to hide the blush that was working its way into his cheeks.

"You can't do it by yourself." Falco replied. His touch found the itch and Leon breathed out a sigh of relief. Falco let out a small sigh as well, Leon was caught off guard.

"Guess you were just as nervous as I was?"

Falco began to feel flustered. "W-what? Of course I wasn't nervous. You're the one that was nervous." Falco felt his cheeks become warm. "Fuck you." He said quietly.

Leon chuckled only slightly, his ribs telling him to calm down. "You can stop whenever you want." Falco nodded, and stopped scratching, but his hand didn't move away. It rested on the younger teens lower back and Leon took this into account but didn't say anything. There was a silence between them for a long moment. Falco stared at the younger teen and studied him up and down. His cheeks rose in heat as he realized what he was doing. He couldn't help it. Leon had a desirable body that Falco found attracting.

Falco in the past had had several girlfriends, but only two boyfriends. He didn't much care for a preference for either gender. If he found someone he found someone, that was it. The pheasant couldn't help but stare at the chameleon's lean body and sculpted muscles. He let his hand drop and he looked away. He'd only just met Leon yesterday. He needed to be sure of this.

Leon had never in his life had the courage to date anyone. He did have crushes, but none he dared talk to. Always the loner in school he found it hard to talk to people. He had no friends to speak of and mostly kept to himself. Falco had sparked something inside the chameleon that he did not yet understand. For a moment it was terrifying. Now it felt relaxing...

* * *

Michael waited inside the Oldboy for the last five minutes to give off his delivery. The door opened and the bird walked in. His tan feathers shimmered in the red neon lights of the alcohol advertisements. He eyeballed the human before scanning the rest of the room. The bird made his way over to the bartender before letting his gaze fixate on the human. The wind outside blew slightly and through the window you could see a new snowfall. "Why do we do this Anderson?" The bird asked.

"Cause this is all we have left Al." The human responded as he began pouring the two a shot of Irish whiskey. "This is one is very special. It was bottled back on earth before my parents moved so...it's aged fine."

Alucard to the shot glass and toasted the bartender. Both downed the shot before placing the glasses rim down. "I've got connections that can help us out. We'll need them." The bird stated, his gaze never leaving the human's.

"Who do you have?" Michael asked as he washed out the shot glasses.

"I got James to back us up. He told me about this local street gang that can help too."

"Is that all?"

Alucard shook his head and smiled. "Got this young guy who's fresh off of Kitana."

"Name?"

"O'Donnell."


End file.
